The Battle of Mindoir
by Gaming Force
Summary: Lieutenant Zabaleta is sent to Mindoir to stop batarian slavers from attacking the colony. But nothing prepares him for the horrors in store, and he will find out just how much torture he can take before he breaks.
1. Retaliation

**Title**: _The Battle of Mindoir_

**Summary**: Lieutenant Zabaleta is sent to Mindoir to stop batarian slavers from attacking the colony. But nothing prepares him for the horrors in store, and he will find out just how much psychological torture he can take before he breaks.

Note: This is my first fiction story, and I decided to make it about _Mass Effect_ because I played and loved the game. It follows the "Colonist" timeline of the game, though how that is relevant to the plot, you'll have to find out for yourself. Please read and review, I plan to upload the next few chapters soon.

Updates: (10/7/09) Sorry I haven't been able to post anything these last few days, I've been a bit busy. Hope to be getting to the next few chapters this weekend.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Mass Effect_ or any of its characters.

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Chapter I_ - Retaliation

The comlink rang, but Ernesto Zabaleta barely opened his eyes.

He groaned and rolled over, looking at the clock by his bed: it was 3:00, galactic standard time. It had taken a while for Zabaleta to get used to the Citadel's default operation clock. After a few weeks, he had considered giving up altogether. But he had eventually grown used to it, and the confusing task of being able to tell the time was the only one he didn't look forward to when he visited his wife and daughter back on Earth.

On human colonies the Alliance used the twenty-four-hour clock of the Terran Coordinated Universal Time, but everything on the Citadel functioned on the GST of a twenty-hour day, subdivided into a hundred minutes of a hundred seconds. In the end, a day in the Citadel was about fifteen percent longer than one on Earth.

Zabaleta preferred to shrug off the whole concept, but nevertheless he opted to have a clock by his bed. It was very early though, and despite years of military training to be able to respond to emergencies regardless of his state or situation, he got grumpy when someone woke him up. He considered simply ignoring it, but given his job he couldn't afford it. If it _was_ an emergency, he could be stripped of his rank for ignoring the call just because he was tired.

After a few seconds, he picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Lieutenant Zabaleta, this is Captain Stone. Get your ass down to the human Embassy; you're going to Mindoir."

"Sir?" Zabaleta asked, confused but now fully awake.

"The human colony in the Attican Traverse is being raided by batarian slavers. Your squad will make up the core of the ground force the ambassador plans to send in."

"With all due respect…"

"Get dressed and up here ASAP, we'll have time for questions later."

"Yes, sir!"

The call disconnected, and Zabaleta put his uniform on. He quickly washed his face and entered the relentless conundrum that was the wards. Even now it was packed, if not more so than usual. Zabaleta knew, however, that the real activity was going on down in bars like Chora's Den, where down-on-their luck civvies drowned their sorrows in alcohol and by staring conspicuously at half-naked asari dancers.

Zabaleta made his way over to the elevator that would take him to the Presidium. He passed by a staircase that led to an as-of-yet empty structure, where he heard a casino was going to be constructed. Between that and Chora's Den, C-Sec would have their hands full.

He arrived in the elevator and activated it, beginning the long ascent to the Presidium. It wasn't half as packed as the wards, because most of the crowd built up during business hours, and although the embassies were always open, waiting at the beck and call of their respective species, not much else was going on. It took him a few minutes to get to the embassies. The receptionist took a quick glance at him, but after looking at his uniform she went back to her work.

He entered the human embassy and went up the stairs. When he knocked on the door to the ambassador's office, he heard a woman's voice say "come in" and he entered.

The ambassador and his captain were already waiting for him, a desk sitting between them. Ambassador Aurora Goyle was sitting behind her desk, looking firm as always, albeit somewhat deprived of her sleep. Zabaleta didn't envy her work: she was tasked with representing the general interests of billions of humans, in the newly founded colonies as well as back on Earth.

He saluted his captain. Matthew Stone stood up and returned the salute. "At ease," he responded. "You sent for me?" Zabaleta asked.

Goyle was a not-unattractive woman in her early fifties, hard-working, bold and dedicated. However, at this time she was regularly catching up on her much needed sleep, and the receptionist was charged with setting up meetings. This made her request even stranger.

If it was a simple raid on human colonies the patrols orbiting the Attican Traverse should be sent to take care of the slavers. It would take a ship leaving the Citadel over an hour to get to Mindoir, and when civilian lives were at stake, the embassy preferred not to take the risk of sending marines from so far away. Even with FTL and the mass relays, it wasn't a particularly short trip.

Captain Matthew Stone was sitting in front of Goyle's desk, with his back to Zabaleta, but twisting his neck to look at him, stern and urgent.

"Take a seat," Goyle said.

He sat down next to the Captain, who said nothing.

"You know why we called you here?" she continued.

"Yes ma'am, though to be frank I'm somewhat confused."

"Understandably so: you are obviously aware of the rapid colonization of the Alliance in the Skyllian Verge."

He nodded. How was this relevant?

"We believe the batarian slavers' attack on Mindoir is an act of retaliation. They stand firmly against our… aggressive colonization."

Ah... the pieces were starting to come together. At least she didn't try to sugarcoat the situation. Humans had a reputation for being ambitious, perhaps overly so, and even considering the fact that they were the newest species in Citadel space, they were intent on playing a bigger role in galactic policy. Their evidently forceful expansion had ticked off a lot of species, especially the batarians, who undoubtedly despised the human race because they represented a threat and menace to their own objectives.

"This could be interpreted as an act of war if the raid isn't handled aptly," Goyle continued. "Our rapid development has spread our forces too thin, spread out. We are not ready for a violent, open conflict against any species."

The captain cut in: "though nothing would give me more pleasure than to show those four-eyed bastards their proper place."

"You are allowed to use force, of course," Goyle said, ignoring him. "But I wanted to _personally_ ask you to be discreet." Zabaleta knew she was emphasizing the importance of prudence. They were to clear out the batarian slavers, but be cautious and attempt no retribution themselves, as the batarians would undoubtedly interpret it as the final act of war, and they would certainly jump at the opportunity.

The batarian forces weren't much more numerous than humanity's, and definitely less organized, but they were itching, just like Zabaleta's captain, to settle their differences on the battlefield.

"Understood," Zabaleta said, but he still had a question, and it must have shown on his expression.

"Yeah?" Goyle said.

"With all due respect ma'am, why not deploy forces near the Attican Traverse? Civilian lives are clearly at stake."

"We have, Lieutenant, but your renowned reputation as a leader will hopefully allow you to explain the vitality of caution, so we need you on Mindoir. Gather your squad and get to the docks right away. Is that clear?"

Yes, Zabaleta had often been described as charismatic. Personally, he didn't give a damn of what anyone outside his command thought, as long as they were on his side, but perhaps it was his relative apathy, but diligence, loyalty and reliability that earned him respect.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, saluted, and turned to leave.


	2. Overkill

Thanks for the review, **Rookie Agent**! Second chapter's up; this one has some action, so expect mild coarse language and some violence, but nothing serious. Hope you enjoy it...

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_Chapter II_ – Overkill

"Approaching Mindoir. Disengaging FTL drive core."

Lieutenant Zabaleta stood in the cargo hold of the SSV _Explorer_ with twenty-nine other marines. He was to command all of them. He didn't know how he was going to manage it, but years of experience had taught him to keep eyes and ears focused on the present.

"Okay marines. Your primary objective is to clear out the batarian slavers. Be aware that the cowards will probably try to use farmers as human shields. Avoid civilian casualties at all costs."

Zabaleta knew that using derogatory adjectives to describe the enemy helped depict them as cruel bastards rather than living beings. This made it somewhat easier for less experienced soldiers to take someone's life and be able to sleep at night. There was nothing more useless than a well-trained soldier unable to do his job because of post-traumatic stress.

Once you've been in a few battles the concept of remorse becomes less frequent as you begin to grasp the idea that, on the battlefield, it's either you or your opponent who walks out alive.

Before he knew it, they were landing. He gathered up his squad and stepped out, his rifle ready and his senses alert for any unusual sound. They had landed on a wide open patch of land, a kilometer or so from the nearby village limits. The area was clear. The batarians had already infiltrated the town; they had to hurry.

"Let's go," he said, and started jogging. He could hear the footsteps of the other marines behind him. They arrived near the village's flimsy wall, and Zabaleta stopped, lifting his hand and indicating the others to do the same. A few paces to the right, there was a large hole in the wall, where the batarians had obviously broken their way in.

It was an insubstantial, low stone barrier, barely a foot thick, built mainly to keep small predators out and cattle in. He indicated his squad to stay next to him and the rest to stay close behind, and then stepped forward. He turned immediately to the left as soon as he reached the gap, to find half a dozen batarians standing at the ready. The one in the middle held a frightened man firmly in front of him, weapon to his head.

_Great start_, Zabaleta thought cynically.

"Leave now and we will spare him and the ones that we don't need," said the batarian with a heavy accent, a self-important smile on his face.

Zabaleta heard the multitude of marines form up behind him, each one pointing their guns at one of the slavers.

The smug look left the leader's features, to be replaced by barely concealed awe and sudden fear. He loosened his grip on the pistol, but quickly recovered.

_Go on, keep talking_, Zabaleta wordlessly urged him. _I just need one clean shot…_

The batarian hesitated, and then continued. "We don't…"

_Bam_. The shot found its target before his adversary had a chance to react. The batarian dropped with a muffled _thump_ on the grass, blood oozing from his head. The farmer wavered, shocked but unhurt, and Zabaleta launched himself forward and pushed him to the ground. The marines quickly and efficiently shot down the rest of the batarians, and Zabaleta heard their bodies drop beside him. He stood up cautiously. No casualties on his side.

He helped the bewildered farmer to his feet. "Are you okay?" he asked.

The man slowly nodded, but said nothing.

"You," Zabaleta said to a nearby soldier.

"Sir?" he responded dutifully.

"Take him back to the _Explorer_. Stay there until we come back." To the farmer he said "you're going to be fine sir, but right now you need to get to safety. Stay on the ship."

"But my wife…"

"I'm sure she's fine, we'll bring all survivors back when we're done."

The farmer reluctantly agreed, and followed the soldier back to the ship. He turned his attention back to the village in front of him. It was large and in better times had apparently been prosperous and peaceful. The road diverted to the left, right and forward. He split his soldiers and went ahead with his squad and five others.

He soon found another group of slavers. These ones didn't seem to be expecting anyone however, perhaps relying on their comrades in the makeshift entrance to take care of intruders. They were playing some sort of dice game, and before they could reach for their holstered guns they had been easily dispatched.

Their tranquility troubled him, however. It meant their job was done, or nearly so. His suspicions were confirmed a few paces forward. They had reached an open space where dozens of huts lay nearly destroyed, and most of the batarian party was gathered here: about 30 slavers registered their presence simultaneously and opened fire.

They barely had time to take cover behind a stack of crates. Zabaleta did a quick head count. One of the nameless marines had been too slow, and had fallen under the endless barrage of bullets. He lay on the floor a few feet forward; his body disfigured and coated red with blood. Zabaleta tried to think, but there was nothing they could do.

They were greatly outnumbered, and regardless of how disorganized the batarians might be, sheer firepower would take Zabaleta and his companions out. They would have to retreat and hope to hold out long enough to regroup with the others. He was about to give the call when he saw, peeking cautiously through a gap in the mutilated crates, the rest of the marines coming out from opposite sides of the field.

They had noted the distraction the sudden presence of Zabaleta had caused and swarmed in, shooting the now perplexed batarians, who now managed to retaliate with a wild flurry of bullets.

"Go!" said Zabaleta, smiling slightly, and they stepped out from cover and started taking out the slavers. The batarians were much better trained than he would have thought, and it took a few minutes of frantic shooting to take them all out.

Zabaleta allowed himself a time out and looked around. The slavers had apparently been pillaging the half destroyed huts for any valuables. There was no one else around, and what had once been a serene sanctuary for many had now become the trivial birthplace of the freshest batarian slaves.

The batarians lay dead, but so did many of his soldiers; less than a dozen soldiers remained standing. The rest lay on the disarray of bodies on the ground, including one of Zabaleta's own squad. His mouth twitched, and he felt a fresh surge of hatred for the disgusting species. He wondered if there was any way to intercept the slavers' ship and kill the whole lot of them, but he grudgingly remembered his orders.

Funny, how insignificant the lives of these farmers were in the big scheme of things. The thought repulsed him and made him question the Alliance he had so loyally fought for. He shook off the thought. This was neither the time nor place.

The place seemed to be completely cleaned out, but they still had to check out the whole town. The remaining marines regrouped, as one.

Once again he was proved wrong. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a multitude of slavers emerged, circling the remaining soldiers with their rifles set. They raised their weapons in chorus and pointed them at different adversaries. For a few second, the tension built up between the two species, and they looked at each other with pure contempt in their eyes.

Then a group of batarians moved sideways and a tall, battle-hardened one stepped forward, undoubtedly the leader of the pack, facing Zabaleta.

"Give up," he said in a profound and accented voice not dissimilar to that of the now deceased batarian near the crude entrance. He laughed, as if surprised that they had not put down their weapons at once.

"You humans," he taunted, stepping forward. "Your arrogance blinds you."

Zabaleta had a clear shot, but if he killed him the rest would take them all down without hesitation. He had no choice. Resentfully, he indicated his comrades to do what the batarian said. He was the last to put down his weapon, but he unwillingly put his hands behind his head and spared the leader a murderous look.

"Yours will kill you," Zabaleta said fiercely.

Again the batarian laughed. "Come on", he said, and the rest of the batarians holstered their weapons and firmly grabbed the marines. "Let me show you what this…" he signaled vaguely at the dead bodies gathered on the floor, "…will cost you."

He was pushed roughly forward by one of his captors, and he saw his comrades being treated similarly around him. Regret flooded through him, and he closed his eyes in weary resignation.


	3. Trauma

I added the third chapter, which is a bit longer and more graphic than the second one. I'm having some trouble applying minor edits to existing chapters, so if you notice anything strange, I'm encountering some... ahem, technical difficulties. Enjoy...

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_Chapter III_ – Trauma

Zabaleta was passed unceremoniously from batarian to batarian, being stripped of his weapons and armor. Finally he was thrown into a small, windowless room of a large building with his companions, who looked equally worn out. The batarians closed a metal door and locked them inside. It was utterly dark.

"Argh!" someone cried out. Zabaleta heard him uselessly pounding the cement walls and relentlessly cursing their captors.

"Calm down," Zabaleta said, to no avail. "Calm down!"

"Calm down?" said the same voice. "You got us into this, you bastard!"

"Shut the hell up if you want to keep your mouth," said a voice he recognized. It was Jean McCarthy, a fellow squad member. "There was no way he could've seen them coming."

"And who the hell do you think you are? I'm no one's subordinate, you can't tell me what to do, you sleazy bitch."

"I said _watch your mouth_!"

A roar of unintelligible noise ensued, everyone demanding to speak their mind.

"I said _shut up_!" Zabaleta shouted, and silence fell. It was not uncommon for soldiers to lose their heads in desperation, but they would get nowhere if they started fighting. "All right, let's think this out," he said blindly to the room in general.

"As far as I can tell we're not out of the town, so they must have decided to camp out inside this… building". He looked sightlessly around. "Now, that makes no sense if they were just here to pick up slaves, they would've packed up and left."

He thought for a moment. "They must have been planning this for weeks, maybe months."

"You saw them!" said a male soldier. "There must've been at least a hundred in all."

"Yeah, slavers always gather in groups of a dozen or two at most," another one put in.

"Then the ambassador was right," Zabaleta said, "this was a provocation; they want war". He sighed. "They just needed political prisoners".

Someone laughed humorlessly. "Oh, they're stupid little bastards. If they think they'll last half a second against us…"

"Don't fool yourself," McCarthy said. "If they managed to organize their troops, to unite, they would make a much stronger army than ours."

"That's the thing," Zabaleta continued. "Batarians are not renowned for their loyalty or brotherhood. I think we're dealing with some sort of extremists. Perhaps they think if we go to open war the rest of the batarians will come together, unite their forces against us. Unlikely if you…"

The door swung forcefully open with a loud _clang_. "You," the leader said, pointing at Zabaleta, "come with me."

Zabaleta stood up firmly and walked toward the leader, who pushed him away when he reached the doorway. Zabaleta glanced back and tried his best at a reassuring look. He didn't know what was coming, but he hoped as he had never done before that his comrades came out unscathed.

The batarian leader gripped his arms tightly. A batarian who stood guard at the open doorway addressed his leader. "What about them?" he asked, nodding towards the room. "Should we put them with the others?"

The leader thought for a few seconds. "We have enough," he said after a while. "Kill them."

The batarian smiled and joined his companion in a rapid barrage of ammunition. A swarm of bullets rained upon the marines, their blood-curling screams drowned out by the machinegun fire.

Zabaleta stared in utter shock. His squad… his comrades were dying. "No! You bastards!"

He fought his captor with inhuman strength, and even the hefty batarian was surprised by Zabaleta's sudden outburst. He managed to break out of the leader's grip and throw himself against one of the shooters. He wrestled his rifle out of his hands and shot him until his face was an unrecognizable mess. He kept bashing his head in, and was only distantly aware of the second shooter turning to take him down.

"No!" he heard the leader say.

_Bam_. Numbly, faintly, he was aware that he was still alive. He relentlessly kept bashing the mutilated batarian's face. The other one lay dead by way of the newly discharged bullet, slumped on the floor next to him.

Then he felt the leader's hands grip him again, and throw him ruthlessly against the doorway. Zabaleta saw his fellow soldiers lying dead inside the small room, and he sobbed, crying tears of fury. He wrestled, but his captor, now ready, held him firmly.

The leader laughed once more, that merciless, heartless laugh that for so many years would haunt Zabaleta's uneasy dreams. "You've got spirit kid," he said deeply, "I'll give you that."

He forced him in the direction of another metal door. There were a dozen more batarian soldiers stationed around a couple of filthy beds, and on the mattresses…

Zabaleta fought the urge to vomit; it almost overpowered him. Some of the figures on the beds were either dead or sedated, but most were awake and plainly in terrible pain. Their heads had been nearly completely scalped and brain matter was visible. It was a miracle they weren't dead, though at this point, they would probably prefer that to this horrible fate.

It took the combined forces of two or three batarians to restrain each screaming figure. They seemed to be a mix of local farmers and the overpowered forces of the Attican Traverse.

_They fell for the same ambush we did_, Zabaleta thought grimly. _Poor souls…_

It became clear to him that these batarians had no compassion, no empathy or sense of honor of any kind. They were in every manner of the word… inhuman.

"What are you doing to them?" Zabaleta asked, torn between pity and nausea.

For a few moments his captor remained silent. "Animal testing," he said simply. Then he brutally threw Zabaleta into an empty bed and took a chair next to it. He took a scalpel from a nearby tray. The resemblance of this place to a medical facility was ironic, cynical.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked sardonically.

He had no idea what "this" was, but his response was sincere and submissive. "Do whatever you want with me. There's nothing else you can do to hurt me." He sighed, fatigued.

"Oh, there are a couple of things I can do," the batarian said smiling. Zabaleta closed his eyes as the scalpel neared his head, trying to submit his body to a faint, dreamy state. A sudden explosion shook the room, and rapid gunfire filled his ears once again.

He opened his eyes. This at least was something the batarian leader hadn't expected; he had the surprised expression Zabaleta himself had worn various times today. In the doorway, the silhouette of a young man skillfully shot down each mystified batarian, barely giving them time to reach for their weapons.

Zabaleta's captor dropped the scalpel on the bed, grabbed his pistol and took aim, but the worn out lieutenant quickly recovered his alertness. He took the scalpel and plunged it deeply through the batarian's neck. For a moment he stood, shocked, and then fell to the floor, grabbing his mutilated throat.

Zabaleta slowly stood up, but he had erroneously trusted that the wound had killed the batarian. With a final effort, he managed to slightly lift his weapon and shoot Zabaleta's left thigh.

The pain was intense, unbelievable. He had been scraped by ammunition before, but had never taken a direct hit. His leg started bleeding profusely.

Furious, he knelt down and grabbed the batarian's dropped gun. He took aim and shot the _coup de grâce_ at the batarian's incredulous face. His lifeless eyes remained open, blood trickling down his bloody forehead. Zabaleta turned around; the rest of the batarians were already on the floor, and the mysterious shooter had the same revolted, pitiful expression he himself had worn upon entering.

Zabaleta remained sitting on the floor, applying as much pressure as he could to his injured leg. His clothes were stained with blood.

"Who are you?" Zabaleta asked the man, rather more brusquely than he had intended to. The newcomer was no older than seventeen, and looked like a local, but he shot with startling agility.

"Sir?" he said, staring at him as if he were deranged, which was, Zabaleta realized, precisely how he must have looked. "Hold on."

He grabbed a bed sheet and strapped it tightly around Zabaleta's leg. The pain intensified at first, but then receded slightly, somewhat numbed. He tied it securely and helped him stand up. Zabaleta put his right arm around the stranger's shoulders and supported his weight with his uninjured leg.

"Did you bring a ship?" asked the adolescent without preamble.

"The _Explorer_," Zabaleta replied, starting to drift away. The pain had made him mysteriously drowsy. "A mile or so that way," he said, pointing towards the open door.

"All right, you need to stay with me," said the stranger with a hint of relief. "Is there anyone else on the ship?"

Zabaleta thought for a moment. "The pilot, a doctor and another marine."

"Do you have any way to reach them?" he said with barely concealed impatience.

"No," said Zabaleta, looking around at the bodies. "I don't know where they put our comlinks."

"Okay," he replied, slightly disappointed. "Can you shoot?" said the man, handing him a pistol.

"I – I think so," he said uncertainly. The stupor was threatening to overpower him, and he was tempted to give in to it. But he had to keep going just a little further, for his savior if not for himself. He tried his best to be on his guard.

"We're just going to have to walk then, just walk a bit…"

"What about them?" Zabaleta said, looking at the half-dead figures on the beds.

"We'll have to send your doctor and see what can be done," he replied uneasily. "Come on then, you'll have to show me the way…"

Silence fell between them as they walked to the doorway.

"Ernesto Zabaleta," he said by means of introduction, offering him his hand.

"Shepard, sir; John Shepard," he replied, and they left the disarray of bodies behind as they headed outside.


End file.
